


a perfect measure

by Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016), Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Rebelcaptain - Freeform, Sweet, coffeeshop but in GFFA-setting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-19
Updated: 2020-03-19
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:47:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23207974
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome/pseuds/Pontmercyingtilthecowscomehome
Summary: Jyn runs an errand while she waits for Cassian to wrap up his work day.***sweet fluff with low angst****
Relationships: Cassian Andor/Jyn Erso, Jyn Erso & Baze Malbus, Jyn Erso & Bodhi Rook, Jyn Erso & Chirrut Îmwe
Comments: 14
Kudos: 51





	a perfect measure

**Author's Note:**

> This was an old, old, draft that I polished up. Figured we could all use a little fluff these days.

The war is winding down. Not enough to disband units, not yet, but enough so that merchants have begun to peddle their wares to Rebel bases. They set up shop close to the formerly hidden hangers, ply soldiers passing by with their most recently cooked or created treats. And since the Alliance now has enough resources to provide back-pay to all those who had risked their lives for years, well, the soldiers are just as excited to be as sold to as the sellers are to sell.

Jyn thinks that this has less to do with the approaching peace and more to do with the fact that everyone in the galaxy wants Republican credits these days, not the now-worthless Imperial chips that had once powered every transaction in the galaxy.

The most recent of these is a little cafe, which serves a variety of beverages, each one ladled into a reusable container. Alcoholic beverages aren’t allowed near the base, per General Organa, so the vendor sells any number of tisanes, bev-fizzes, and caf-blends.

More incredible to Jyn, is the simple fact the cafe sells _food._

Home-cooked foods. Meals made with real ingredients, not the powdered and dried mixes she’d eaten ever since joining up with the rebels.

Food that had flavor and dimension and _taste._

The winter snows has shown no sign of stopping, which makes her feel like she is back on Hoth, trudging her way through countless, obnoxious snow drifts, until she reaches the little cafe.

She nods to the Bothan working behind the counter, then places her usual order.

Or tries to.

“We’re out,” he says, shaking his head. “Last spiced berry tart sold only an hour ago.”

“Shavit.”

The Bothan coughs at her curse.

Jyn makes a mildly apologetic expression.

The Bothan folds his arms.

“Sorry,” she mutters.

His ears twitch.

“I am,” she insists.

“Very well. May I select something else for you from the menu?”

Jyn is just about to answer when her comm buzzes. Her hand darts down to the small metallic box at her hip to see the message.

“Ahem.”

“It’s important.”

“We do have a no-devices policy,” the Bothan insists. “Says so right there.” He nods at a wooden carving that Jyn has never bothered to read.

She’s never bothered to read most signs, if she’s honest with herself.

But while they’d bickered, she had time to glance down. The message is short, as all of Cassian’s are.

_Back at base._

It’s enough to make an unusually gregarious spirit seize Jyn. She hurries to order six drinks and even purchases a carrier for them. The Bothan’s mood seems considerably improved by her large order. He’s even happier when she adds a few more things to her pile.

Carrier in hand, Jyn marches toward base.

* * *

She sees Bodhi first, which makes sense, given how much time he and Luke spend together in the hangar. If they’re not fixing an X-wing, they’re playing catch with their adopted daughter, who they found in some sand-filled junkyard, and promptly rescued her.

Jyn hands a sugary sweet spiced roll to Rey, then passes Luke some sort of herbal infusion that looks like seaweed soup. Bodhi, she knows, prefers the filter caf the little shop makes. It’s different than any caf she’s had before, with a stronger aroma and the smallest tinge of bitterness. Bodhi tops his with sugar and steamed blue milk.

“What’s the occasion?” he asks Jyn while Rey does her best to climb onto her shoulders.

“No reason,” she shrugs.

“Trying to skip babysitting?” Luke teases.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Jyn carefully sets Rey down, then gives her a hug. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, sprout, when your sugar high’s worn off.”

Rey cheers, then, while the adults are otherwise occupied, does her best to sprint toward the ladder leading up to an X-Wing cockpit.

“Master Luke--” Threepio calls. “She has--”

“I see her!” Luke’s already on his way to rescue the two year old, who the whole base has learned, has one major goal: to fly before she turns three.

Jyn leaves the parents in the hangar to sort out that situation. Next, she finds Baze and Chirrut in the greenhouse of the base. Well, the mostly greenhouse. Baze has made it into a bit of an armoury, as he insists on cataloging and repairing each retired blaster, turned in by a soldier turned civilian.

“Hey you two,” Jyn calls out.

“Are they fruit pastries, or custard-filled?” Chirrut asks by way of a greeting.

Jyn laughs. It’s still a rare sound, but at least around her friends, it is not one unfamiliar to them. Some days, the sound has finally stopped startling her own heart. She is learning, slowly, to be happy, to assume that laughter can be good and true. That friendships can last and a home can endure.

She is also, as always, slightly baffled by Chirrut. “How is it,” she asks, as she passes over the paper sack containing the sweets to the man, “that you can somehow sense the presence of sweets, but you can’t sense their filling?”

“Ah,” Chirrut replies.

“THat’s not an answer.”

“It is for him,” Baze grumbles. He seizes a pastry, testing it between his callused fingers. “Good. Custard.”

“The ways of the Force are sometimes not clear,” Chirrut replies, “and it has been said that custard has a way of clouding its path even more so.”

Jyn believes him.

Almost.

Until Baze starts to roar with his own laughter, throwing back his head and slapping his knee. Privately, Jyn hopes that one day she will laugh like that, completely unafraid of what lies ahead. She also rather hopes to be as proficient with ten thousand different types of weapons, just like Baze.

“Thank you, Jyn Erso,” Chirrut says, “I appreciate the food and the iced caf.”

“How…” she begins, even as she holds out the cool cup, condensation clinging to the surface.

Chirrut offers an enigmatic smile.

Baze, taking his own forrowlow berry tea, shakes his head. “It’s the ice. He hears it against the glass.”

That makes Chirrut roll his eyes. “Perhaps it is not. The ways of the Force…”

Jyn leaves the two as they bicker, lovingly. Those two had been married for years, and somehow, didn’t drive each other to flee to the other side of the galaxy, no matter how much they disagreed.

That too gives Jyn hope.

* * *

Her errands are all but complete.There are only two mugs left in her little carrier. One with a bitter, unsweetened cup of caf, devoid of even the barest splash of steamed blue milk. The other is a blended confection of candy and berries, whipped with frozen cream and a splash of caf-concentrate. All that, and lots, and lots, of sugar.

With the carrier in hand, Jyn winds through the halls of the base, until she reaches a simple, sparse office, far from the rest of the bustle of the base. It’s quiet, back here in this nearly forgotten hallway, but it’s a peaceful sort of quiet, far from the silence of a base under siege.

They’d weathered both types of silence in the years since they met, and countless more beside. But it seems to Jyn that these days, their silence is as warm as sunlight, as if they no longer need words to express anything at all.

Cassian is there, seated with his back to her. He is still in his combat fatigues, with a stack of datasheets and a datapad on his otherwise spotless desk. As she enters, he raises one hand, acknowledging her, identifying her by only the sound of her footsteps and her breath.

She smiles and perches on top of his desk, which she knows she’s not supposed to do. That just makes her delight in it more. Her feet swing as she waits for him to finish his last report. His fingers tap out entries, his brow furrowed with concentration. None of his actions are rushed or lazy. Even in these painstaking boring operations, Cassian gives the Rebellion his complete concentration.

Only after the datapad is put away does he look up at her. Wordlessly, his hand goes to the back of her neck and pulls her down to him for a long kiss

.

She smiles against his lips.“Wait,” she whispers.

“Jyn,” the way he says her name conveys enough longing to fill a black hole.

She hops off the table. She goes to the corner of the room where she’d set down the tray of drinks. Only then does she select the last one, all frothy whipped cream and sweet syrups, and brings it to him.

“Your favorite.”

He shakes his head, the corner of his eyes crinkling in a way that she knows now is a smile when he can’t remember how to grin. “How did you know?”

“Lucky guess.”

He takes a long sip of the sweet beverage, and then, sets it down. “You’re close.”

“What did I get wrong?”

“Here, try it.” He passes the cup to her. She drinks, though the beverage is sweeter than she normally likes.

“I don’t know.” She scrunches her nose. “I think I like my plain old caf better.”

“That might be the only plain thing about you, Jyn Erso.” He laughs, letting his free hand run through her choppy hair. Then, he’s kissing her again, with a sort of passion that she loves more than anything. Her hands travel down his shoulders, holding tight to him. Keeping him here in this little office for as long as the moment allows.

This is why she loves the cafe, as irrational as it is. She thinks that if there is enough safety for businesses to open, for stores to cater to Rebel soldiers, then perhaps soon there will be enough safety for even the Rebel soldiers to leave their bases.

To build their own homes, away from barracks.

Cassian takes a long sip of his drink. “Tastes perfect now.” he says with a little smile. A real one, that takes years off his grim face and restores hope to her own expression.

“You always order sweet things,” she says. “And I’ve tried to track the different versions you’ve liked, each time I brought you one.”

Cassian kisses her once more. “Thank you.”

“For the drink?”

“For being there for me,” he says.

Just as she is about to reply, her stomach grumbles. Cassian laughs. “What, no spiced berry tarts this time?”

“They were out,” Jyn sighs and rolls her eyes.

“You know, you could make your own.”

“That involves hard work. And measuring. And precision.”

“All of which you are technically capable of. You are a captain, after all.”

“I’m nearly retired.” Jyn protests, slyly taking his hand. They’ve both learned to hold hands, now that there is less of a need to keep one hand free to reach for a blaster at any time. They’ve both learned a great deal of things about each other. And it seems as if they are still learning, each day, and perhaps will be forever. It’s a pleasant sort of learning, though, at this point. No longer do they need to examine each moment for meaning, each phrase for its truth. Instead, they accept tasks like learning each other’s drink orders and holding each other’s hand. Jyn adds. “And you are a very fine cook yourself, after all.”

At that, Cassian laughs. The sound is soft and sudden, over nearly as soon as it began. Once more Jyn darts in to kiss him, tasting the sweetness of the drink and the sweetness of the moment, all in one perfect, even measure of joy.


End file.
